


gonna make sure that you have enough

by Julx3tte



Series: you can sail on thin ice long as i can too [7]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Parent(s), emotions are hard, eventual bed sharing pt 2, people understanding you is the hardest, saying them out loud is harder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 09:47:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24348982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julx3tte/pseuds/Julx3tte
Summary: While the blue lions camp out at Garreg Mach, Sylvian gets a letter that his father is ill. Normally he'd find a pretty way to distract himself, but Ingrid makes it all much more complicated.feat. Sylvain not dealing with his feelings, Ingrid eating, and their relationship becoming a bit more clear.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: you can sail on thin ice long as i can too [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1747528
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	gonna make sure that you have enough

The monastery’s dorm rooms weren’t very large. They were cramped, almost too tight for them as teenagers; as adults, they had enough room for a bed and a desk. With less occupants, almost all of the Blue Lions took or borrowed a second room to keep their belongings.

Sylvain kept his desk away from his bed. It helped him to think somewhere with less memories. His bed bore witness to years of his self-destruction before the war - a different girl every night to help him forget about his parents, his brother, his crest. His duty.

Tonight, he was glad there was a wall between him and the bed.

His mother had sent him a letter, and his hands shook with worry before he even read the words on it. Somewhere inside of him, though, Sylvain knew the contents.

He'd imagined how this moment might come for years, and each time made him feel guiltier than the last. His opinion of his parents ebbed and flowed - usually depending on who he was with - but even at his worst he’d always cared for them.

Sylvain took a deep breath, snapped the seal on the envelope, and unfolded the parchment. The script was terse and simple:  _ Return home immediately. Your father is unwell. _

His hands wouldn’t stop shaking - squeezed them until they were still and the letter crumpled - but he resisted the urge to throw them away. He put the letter down gently on the desk instead, and walked to the kitchens to find some ale.

* * *

Ingrid found him in the middle of the night, half drunk and half in tears. He cleaned up what he could of his face. The bottles on the table were a different story.

Sylvain knew this wasn’t the healthiest response. It would have been simpler to bed someone, let the frustration and confusion and worry out all at once and let it all walk away with whoever his partner was for the night. It would have felt better, too, both tonight and in the morning. Years of cutting off guilt at the roots would have helped.

But it had to be Ingrid still up, looking for food.

For a woman with such simple (not that she was simple) ambitions as knighthood, the way Sylvain revolved around her was intricate and complicated.

Even now, walking towards with a look of worry on her face, he didn’t know what he wanted her to say.

Worse, he didn’t know what he would say.

It was obvious that he wasn’t alright, and Ingrid knew well enough there were only a few reasons for that. Usually it was women, sometimes battle, and rarely family. She’d seen all three and would probably see right through any of the lies he could come up with tonight.

The fact that he’d had multiple bottles of ale didn’t help. 

She was beautiful. Always was, and such a confession was more likely to slip out of his mouth than, “my father is dying.” Hopefully she’d believe it. The last time he’d said it, she’d laughed left and blushed in a way he wanted to see more of.

Was it sick to want both tonight? Ingrid’s blush and her comfort. Sylvain couldn’t decide.

* * *

Ingrid gave him a wide berth at first. A way of announcing her presence. She walked right past him into the kitchens, and a few minutes later emerged with a massive plate of… something.

Sylvian knew better than to ask, and just chuckled when she started to devour it in front of him, taking a seat and putting bottles aside to make room for the plate.

He took another swig and sighed, and Ingrid sighed too, after half of her food was gone.

She gave him a sharp look that roughly translated to  _ I’m not done with you yet _ and went back for the rest, and Sylvain took the moment to choose some words.

How long would have to be gone for? Not that the war effort needed him; winter was near and the battles would slow down for a few months. The bigger question was whether he would have to take on the Margrave’s responsibilities immediately. That would pull him away from the monastery, away from Ingrid…

There must have been worry on his face, because Ingrid, mouth full and mid-chew, asked, “ _ someshing wong _ ?”

He had been staring at her.

“You’re…”

“Mmm?”

“Disgusting. How could you eat that so quickly?”

Ingrid responded by flipping him off and picking up the plate, stuffing down what was left right into her mouth.

Sylvain groaned and looked away until she was finished wiping her face clean.

“Now then. Sylvain. What’s going on?”

He stared out the window behind her, trying to keep his emotions in control. There were too many of them. Grief and anger and sadness and desire all at once. He pressed his feet against each other to steady himself.

“I might have to leave for a while.”  _ I don’t want to leave you. Not yet. Not while we’re still in the middle of all of this. Not while we’re figuring out what this between us is. _

“To where?” Ingrid’ eyes drilled into him, green and brilliant and searching.

“My father is sick. I got a letter asking me to return.”

“You couldn't have led with that?! Sylvain!” Ingrid scolded.

“I… Sorry.” Sylvain grabbed the back of his head, taking a fistful of hair and pulling on it. His other hand, under the table, gripped his pant legs to stop them from shaking. 

“It’s not the same and you know it. Leaving us for your family isn’t leaving.” 

Sylvain lost it. He slammed his firsts into the table with too much force, more than he’d intended. A dull thud echoed through the dining hall, and one of the half empty bottles of ale fell over.

“It’s barely been a year since we’ve all been together Ing. I’m not ready to leave it all yet to become Margrave or stay at the castle and administrate or whatever the gods I’ll be responsible for.”  _ I want to stay here. I want to stay with you. _

Silence, then: 

“Then we’ll go with you, Sylvain.” Her hands were shaking now too, and she’d stood up at some point and gods she was beautiful with the moon to her back and the indignation in her eyes. 

* * *

He knew his breath smelled like ale and he didn’t actually have any sense of control over his strength, but Sylvain reached across the bench and put a hand behind Ingrid’s neck to pull her to him.

He normally kissed her carefully and controlled. He didn’t want to scare her or make her feel unsafe, especially when they were moving so close to each other.

This time, their faces crashed into each other, and Sylvain worried about leaving her a split lip. He kissed her with all the emotion he had, hoping she’d understand, that she would help him carry them all.

Ingrid drew back with a huff.

“What in the hell, Sylvain, how can you be so lustful at such a --” 

Recognition came across her face as she saw the look on Sylvain’s: desperate, unprocessed, raw worry.

Sylvain had never handled his emotions well. Everything had an escape valve. When Miklan bullied him, it had been sparring against the castle guards and Felix. When his parents ignored him, he found affection elsewhere. During wartime, he let the mood of the camp help him figure things out.

Tonight, he was asking, pleading Ingrid to help. To accept and see the side of him that he tried to protect her from, and kept hidden from the others.

“Dummy. You could have just asked me to come over you know. I would have. My door is like three rooms down. I don’t need you to bear yourself open for me. Part of figuring this out is… just how to be together while all of this happens.” Ingrid’s face was soft, and she traced the back of her fingers on his cheek, letting him nuzzle against them.

“I’m not… I’m sorry for being such an animal Ing.”  _ For making this all so confusing. For being confused. For asking for intimacy when my father is dying and my family is asking me to take their burdens _ .

“You’re not, Sylvain. You’d do the same for me. You did, a few years ago when you came to Galatea to distract me.” She walked around the table and took him by the arm and started leading them both back to the dormitories.

Sylvain held her by the waist and rested his head on top of hers.

“Stay the night with me?” He asked, finally out loud.

“I will, yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> ahhhh i hope you enjoyed this. I am tempted to write the part 2 where they, well, spend the night together. but for now, I wanted to capture all of the angst and surprise Sylvain with a moment that he's more understood than he thinks he deserves to be. please enjoy!!


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